A Perfect Gentleman
by Birdhouse in your Soul
Summary: ...He was not. And yet somehow, she loved him, though his manners were atrocious and he stayed by her side only as an indentured servant. Though... his dancing skills were quite impressive. Rennac/L'Arachel. Oneshot.


**A PERFECT GENTLEMAN**

The rogue sighed to himself, brushing a wavy strand of brown hair from his face. Ahead of him, he could hear the irritating trilling of his "employer" and the hearty guffaw of her bodyguard as he wholeheartedly agreed with everything she said. Which was mostly praise for no one other than herself.

"Come, Rennac!" she called back over her shoulder. "We've work to do yet! We shall bathe this entire continent in the holy light of my righteous glory!"

"Haven't we done that already?" he muttered. Mostly to himself, since all his complaints, however valid, fell on deaf ears. He wasn't even really working for this twit anymore... She had just continued to drag him along after her, justifying it by saying that his skill and cunning were needed on her divine quest to rid the world of evil...

...Even though the world was quite rid of evil already. The War of the Stones was over, and though some monsters remained, they were little more than a nuisance, certainly no need for this silly tirade to exterminate each and every last one.

"Princess L'Arachel," he groaned as he stumbled on up next to her. "Might we stop for something to eat soon? I'm positively famished."

She laughed at him as though he were a child. "Why, Rennac, we had breakfast not long ago! Surely that will be enough to sustain you until we reach a town to rest for the night-"

"That was _four hours _ago!" Rennac interrupted, throwing up his hands. "And I know you must not realize it, because you have that horse to carry you wherever you want to go, but the terrain you've led us over has not exactly been leisurely!"

Dozla, Princess L'Arachel's idiotically faithful bodyguard, gave Rennac a slap on the back that nearly knocked him over. "Haw haw! It's 'cause you got no meat on your bones, boy. Perhaps you should put away more while you have the chance!"

Rennac grumbled. Dozla was easily three times his size. He would have to eat fifteen meals a day, if he wanted to be that large. Which he didn't.

L'Arachel gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh, Rennac, you can be such a _bother_ sometimes. Fine. We shall stop to rest for a little while. This is a lovely spot for a picnic, don't you think?"

Rennac looked around. This was a tundra, barren and nearly devoid of life. Short plants grew here and there, quivering in the freezing wind.

"...Yes. Lovely."

L'Arachel hopped off the back of her horse and retrieved some of their rations from the saddlebags. He had no idea why she was always so frugal with their food - by this point, they had stocked up enough to feed a small village.

She handed a stale roll and hunk of dried sausage to each of her companions, sitting down carefully on a rock. Rennac sat himself down on the short, rough grass, and Dozla stood, surveying the area between bites.

There was no doubt in Rennac's mind - the both of them thoroughly irritated him. And yet, there had been many opportunities for him to easily make an escape. He could have hid somewhere near that waterfall they'd passed not long ago - and knowing L'Arachel, who overreacted to _everything, _she would have immediately assumed that he'd fallen to his death while she had her back turned. And he could have run back to Carcino and continued the lifestyle she'd dragged him away from, a life of wine, women, and song.

There had been many opportunites like this, and yet, he had taken none of them.

Why, he asked himself? Why did he perpetuate this sentence of torture?

He had to admit to himself, with some annoyance - perhaps it was because he did not dislike them as much as he thought. Dozla was a bit like the irritating uncle he'd never asked for - the kind one tolerates with rolling eyes and frustrated groans but deep down, the kind you really can't help but like, however annoying they are. And L'Arachel...

What _was _L'Arachel to him? He had been with a great many women, so he could rightly say she was gorgeous, and he would readily admit that - Although he had avoided doing so; her head was swelled enough as it was.

And she was conceited... Downright narcissistic... Annoyingly so. No one could compliment her, because whatever they would say, it was guaranteed that she had already said it about herself. Many times.

But she was sweet and caring, when she wanted to be. Her optimism, though maddening, was infectious.

Well, he had to face the truth sooner or later. He really did like L'Arachel. Of course, L'Arachel was a princess, and he, though not a poor vagabond, was little more than a rich commoner at best, rough around the edges.

And surely someone like L'Arachel of Rausten could never be with a commoner. How demeaning would that be? This self-proclaimed descendent of the goddesses themselves could never stoop so low as to love some _commoner_.

Surely someone like Rennac was no match for a perfect lady like L'Arachel.

Perhaps it was this knowledge that frustrated him the most - it was like she was taunting him, leading him all over the continent, forcing him to accept the reality that she could never be his. He should have moved on, should have taken the opportunity to escape.

But he stayed.

Why? False hope? To honor his agreement? (He scoffed - he _had_ no honor.)

He decided he might never know.

"Rennac? Whatever is the matter? You've got that faraway look in your eyes again."

He looked at L'Arachel. "...Just... Thinking, is all." Dozla had wandered off and was now quite a ways away from them, engaging a few giant spiders that were always crawling through these mountains.

"Oh? Whatever about?"

"Ah, just... My life... The reason I'm here..."

"That is an unusual train of thought for someone like you, Rennac."

He glared daggers at her. "Excuse me? Are you calling me a simpleton, by any chance?"

"Of course not, Rennac... You simply do not spend much time thinking about such complex matters. You usually only think so deep as the coins in your pocket."

He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. She had him there.

She frowned. "Rennac... I know you must not think much of me, even I can tell that much."

Rennac gaped. If he had a list of "Things L'Arachel Will Never, Ever Say" that may well have been at the top of it.

"And I would hate to make you unhappy... I realize I've all but forced you to work for me without pay... So you are free to go, if that is what you wish." Her voice nearly cracked as she spoke, as though she were about to cry.

He sat silently for a minute. Ah, here was _another _chance...!

So why wasn't he taking it?

"That is... not what I wish."

She looked over at him, astonished. "What?"

"On the contrary, Princess, I always assumed it was _you _who did not like _me_."

Now it was she who glared at him. "Rennac, why would you think that? I have been nothing but kind to you the whole time you have travelled with me!"

"Do you remember when I challenged you to that... dance-off?" He smirked slightly.

She stifled a giggle at the memory. It had been in the gorgon lair, the most un-romantic of all places, in the midst of a battle. Looking back now, it had been nothing short of ridiculous. Ballroom dancing among grotesque, hideous monsters. "Yes. What about it?"

"Do you remember what you said to me afterwards?"

"Not... particularly... no."

"You said, 'Well, you dancing ability is certainly adequate. Now, if we could only work on your proper treatment of a lady...'"

She nodded slowly. "...Yes... I did."

"I always assumed you wanted a perfect gentleman, L'Arachel, not some ruffian like me."

"To work for me? Well, I suppose, but..."

He resisted the urge to slam his head against the rock next to him. "No, not to work for you, L'Arachel... To... be... with you."

She slowly realized. "As... in marriage?"

"Yes, L'Arachel."

She looked flabbergasted. "Rennac... You... think that way of me?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "...More or less."

Well, here it came. The indignant rejection, and Dozla's protective threats.

"...Well, Rennac. I don't know what to say. Except that I am surprised."

He shrugged.

"...Pleasantly so."

Rennac looked over. "...Really?"

"Well, of course! I will admit, I have developed quite a fondness for you over the months you've been working in my service, and I assumed by your perpetually unpleasant mood that my feelings were unrequited. But now that I know..."

He waited for her to continue.

"We shall have to return to Rausten and be wed at once! Oh, my dear uncle will be so happy, for I have finally found a suitable husband!" She jumped up, happily bounding over to him.

His eyes widened. "Uh, h-hold on now, must we... rush into this so?"

"Well of course! Although..." She looked him up and down. "...You should speak to Prince Ephraim before we marry... And perhaps he might teach you to be more of a gentleman."

"L'Arachel, wait just one moment..."

"Oh, you have made me simply the happiest woman alive! Come, we must tell Dozla!" She grabbed him by the arm, pulled him to his feet, and gave him a quick kiss before dragging him along behind her as she ran to inform her bodyguard of the good news.

And Rennac, amongst all this, could only think one thing.

_Ach... Here we go again._


End file.
